Juevenile Prophets
by Nighthawk5
Summary: *UPDATED* Jason R Bentley's suicide brings Mac and Singer closer than they want... but they discover they have more in common than they thought
1. Jason R Bently's Suicide Note

December 10th, 2002  
  
Am I scared? Yeah, hell I'm scared. But I know I have to do this.  
  
I have to die.  
  
That's one of the problems with this nation: you have to die before you make a difference. There's this saying I try to live by: if you can't make waves make ripples. I hope, my dear brothers and sisters, that my death will be the smallest ripple, spreading wider, growing bigger until those ripples cover all the oceans of the world and replace the tide.  
  
We can make a difference.  
  
This is my hope: I hope that my death will inspire you to make the world a better place.  
  
And I, Jason Robert Bentley, leave you tonight and forever with the words of the Juvenile Prophets in their song Youth of Today:  
  
We're sick of your lies  
  
And you're filthy corruption  
  
Hiding behind your deceptive disguise  
  
You're spreaders of destruction  
  
You call us the misguided youth  
  
Well this is what we have to say  
  
We're sick of your morbid truth  
  
We are the youth  
  
Of today  
  
* * * * * * 


	2. Dreaming Memories Best Forgotten

"I'm sick of how you two fight. You're glad he's gone! Why don't you love him?" she screamed, kicking a piece of glass across the floor, "Why don't you love me?"  
  
"Shut up Sarah," the mother replied.  
  
"Why? Go ahead, make it all my fault. It always is, isn't it mum? Dad was never like this before I was born. If I stopped breathing the world would be a better place!"  
  
"You don't know how hard it is trying to support a family of a waitressing job," the older woman yelled.  
  
"And what else on the side?" her daughter spat venomously.  
  
"Nothing you haven't done to support that stupid habit you have! How much does that boy pay you?"  
  
"You bitch! You fucking bitch!" she shouted.  
  
"Don't call me that you stupid whore. I'll be so glad in a few years when you can move out!"  
  
The glass bowl she threw shattered against the wall above her daughter's head.  
  
"How can you call me a whore mother? What do you do after work?" she screamed back.  
  
"That feeds you, you ungrateful slut!"  
  
This time it was a vase that wasn't as far of the target.  
  
She was drenched in cold water as it hit her in the stomach and shattered at her feet.  
  
"How can I call you my mother?" she cried, picking up the stack of dinner plates on the bench and throwing them to the floor.  
  
"Fuck you Sarah!"  
  
"Fuck yourself lady!"  
  
"Don't talk like that," her mother hissed as she hurled an empty bottle of Jack Daniels across the room.  
  
"I'm sick of this shit!" she spat, picking up a large shard of glass and flung it across the room toward her mother.  
  
It glanced off the other woman's arm, leaving a bloodied red scratch.  
  
She smiled in satisfaction and picked another up.  
  
"Don't you dare, you little bitch!" her mother snapped, picking up the knife lying on the kitchen bench.  
  
"You wouldn't dare," challenged the daughter.  
  
"Oh wouldn't I?"  
  
Before she knew what had happened, a searing pain burned in her chest. Looking down, she saw her shirt cut. A deep gash ran across her right breast.  
  
She stared at her mother in shock, taking two steps backwards through the broken glass and splintered wood.  
  
"Don't bother mother," she stated evenly, drawing the large shard of glass she was going to throw, "I'd rather do it myself."  
  
She raised the shard and eyed it wondrously. Then she extended her left wrist and slashed across, leaving a gash with blood oozing from it. She placed the glass in her left hand and carved a fissure into her other arm.  
  
"I hate you!" yelled her mother.  
  
"I hate you too," she smiled, "I want to die."  
  
Smiling again, she tramped out of the room, ran down the front stairs and grabbed her skateboard. She was skating along the main road before she collapsed onto the pavement, her chest and wrists still bleeding.  
  
"Why?" she sobbed, tears running into the pool of blood drenching her hair, "Why, why, why?"  
  
Mac woke up with tears in her eyes.  
  
* * * * * * 


	3. Facing The Day this is a stupid title, I...

"Good morning Colonel. The admiral wants to see you in his office," Bud informed Mac as she entered the bull pen 15 minutes late.  
  
"Morning Lieutenant. Right now?" she replied wearily.  
  
"I believe so Ma'am."  
  
"Thanks," she sighed, dragging herself over to the Admiral's office.  
  
"Good morning Tiner," she murmured jadedly.  
  
"Good morning Ma'am. You can go right in, he's waiting for you."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"I don't believe this," Mac muttered, "I have to work with you."  
  
"At least we agree on something," Singer replied curtly.  
  
A long silence ensued.  
  
"Well this is productive," Mac commented.  
  
"I'll say."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Maybe we have better things to do than sit here and stare at each other," Singer suggested.  
  
"You're definitely right there."  
  
"I know."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I'm going to leave now," Singer announced.  
  
"Thankyou."  
  
"My pleasure Ma'am."  
  
Mac leant back in her chair, thanking God it was over and dreading the 72 hours she was obliged to spend with the woman investigating the suicide of a teenager with issues.  
  
"The world sucks, angst, angst, yes I know, deal with it- I did," she murmured to no one in particular.  
  
"Is there a reason you're talking to yourself?" Harm asked.  
  
"Is there a reason you never knock?" she retorted.  
  
"Is there a reason you're in such a bad mood today?"  
  
She glared at him and answered, "I have to work with her."  
  
"You should start a support group," he remarked.  
  
"If I go crazy and kill her, will you defend me?"  
  
"Hey, the judge will probably personally thank you."  
  
"I'd definitely get insanity don't you think?"  
  
"You'd look cute in a straight jacket," he commented.  
  
"I can look cute in any thing," she informed him.  
  
"No," he shook his head.  
  
"There is one thing you can do better than any one I know. You really know how to insult a woman."  
  
"Hey, you didn't give me a chance to finish."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And what were you going to say?"  
  
"I might just not say it now."  
  
"As stands, that is still an insult. Do you really want to leave this office with me pissed off at you?"  
  
He looked at her for a second, "No."  
  
She smiled, "So what were you going to say when I interrupted you?"  
  
"I was going to say you could look sexy in any thing, I'm not sure about cute."  
  
She stared at him.  
  
He was about to leave the office grinning in satisfaction when she recovered from her shock.  
  
"Did you just call me sexy?" she called in a sing-song voice, sniggering when he turned to face her.  
  
She laughed again.  
  
"What's so funny Miss Mackenzie?"  
  
"You're speechless."  
  
"I could think of a billion things to say to you, none of which would be appropriate in this setting."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"No, I just said that."  
  
"Damn you, get out of my office," she laughed.  
  
"I'm leaving."  
  
"Good," she smiled.  
  
"I win," he informed her as he left.  
  
"You may have won the battle, but you'll never win the war," she called after him, still laughing to herself.  
  
* * * * * 


	4. Homeless

Mac sat down in front of the CD player and read the titles on the album to herself as the first track came on.  
  
It was one that she recognised... "The Youth of Today," she murmured quietly, "Jason Bentley's favourite song. I don't see why," she muttered, turning the volume of the loud punk rock track down.  
  
"Pessimist's Anthem, Cupid Must Really Hate Me, Unwanted, I Want To Die," she read, "Angst, angst. Fit In This Skin, Anywhere But Where I Am, Please Don't Leave Me Here, The Statue Crying Blood, Welcome To My World, Not Asking For Much. Man, this group have issues. I Don't Know, Homeless."  
  
She stared at the CD in her hand.  
  
"Why did I buy this?" she questioned. She was about to switch it off when the last track, a slightly subdued punk rock song called "Homeless" caught her attention. (A/N: Well it's almost the closest thing to a ballad I ever wrote!)  
  
I hate them  
  
I hate them both  
  
Cuz they were never there  
  
I hate them both  
  
Cuz they didn't care  
  
I never had a family  
  
Cuz they really hated me  
  
Shouting  
  
Screaming  
  
And me  
  
Dreaming  
  
Of getting away  
  
Broken glass  
  
And shattered dreams  
  
All amidst my mothers screams  
  
And I don't know what to say  
  
Breaking  
  
Dying  
  
And me  
  
Crying  
  
Out in pain  
  
Bloodstains  
  
And hidden fears  
  
I was left to cry my own tears  
  
And no matter what the scars remain  
  
I was lost  
  
And I was alone  
  
I was scared  
  
And scarred for life  
  
I was afraid  
  
And I was hurt  
  
I was angry  
  
For what it's worth  
  
But after all these years  
  
And after all these tears  
  
I'm still homeless  
  
Don't have a family  
  
Cuz you know  
  
They really  
  
Hated me  
  
I'm nameless  
  
Unwanted  
  
With a heart of stone  
  
Forgotten  
  
I'm child without a home  
  
Drowning  
  
Falling  
  
And me  
  
Crawling  
  
On my knees  
  
Destruction  
  
And devastation  
  
Promises, manipulation  
  
And begging for mercy please  
  
Hopeless  
  
Broken  
  
And me  
  
Outspoken  
  
But what for?  
  
Deserted  
  
Lost and forsaken  
  
Do you know the time it's taken?  
  
To end this war  
  
I was lost  
  
And I was alone  
  
I was scared  
  
And scarred for life  
  
I was afraid  
  
And I was hurt  
  
I was angry  
  
For what it's worth  
  
But after all these years  
  
And after all these tears  
  
I'm still homeless  
  
Don't have a family  
  
Cuz you know  
  
They really  
  
Hated me  
  
I'm nameless  
  
Unwanted  
  
With a heart of stone  
  
Forgotten  
  
I'm child without a home  
  
I hate them  
  
I hate them both  
  
Cuz they were never there  
  
I hate them both  
  
Cuz they didn't care  
  
I never had a family  
  
Cuz they really hated me  
  
But there's something  
  
Something inside of me  
  
Something that they'll never see  
  
Cuz I, I miss my family  
  
I'm still homeless  
  
Don't have a family  
  
Cuz you know  
  
They really  
  
Hated me  
  
I'm nameless  
  
Unwanted  
  
With a heart of stone  
  
Forgotten  
  
I'm child without a home  
  
She tried to move, to switch off the CD player, to play the song again, to do anything.  
  
But she couldn't.  
  
She was frozen in place, listening to the empty sound of silence.  
  
Finally she managed a shocked whisper, "How did they do that?"  
  
Still sitting there, staring straight through the scene in front of her, she felt ice cold, stunned at how personal the song was to her. It was like that REO Speedwagon song she'd become addicted to cuz it reminded her of Harm. (A/N: Is any other 13-year-old in the world a fan of REO Speegwagon? I am SO sad!)  
  
Finally the phone rang, so she got up to answer it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Mac, you are not going to believe what I just heard."  
  
It was Chloe.  
  
"Really?" she replied, smiling in amusement.  
  
"Well you see, there's this band called the Juvenile Prophets right?"  
  
"Yeah, I know who you're talking about."  
  
"And they had this song called the Youth of Today. It's a really cool song and I personally don't know how it would drive you to suicide but anyways. This kid at boarding school or something, he killed himself and quoted that song in his note or whatever. Now his parents are suing the band."  
  
"What?" Mac replied, "I mean I knew all the other stuff but I didn't know his parents where suing."  
  
"How did you know?" Chloe questioned, "I just got it off their official fansite and that's the only place it's been released. I had to call you because all my friends are out of town and I had to tell somebody. Besides, we haven't talked in ages. Oh, and by the way, hello. I think I forgot to say that when you picked up the phone."  
  
Mac smiled to herself, "Slow down for a second Chloe and I'll answer your question cuz I think this might interest you."  
  
"Suspense, suspense, hurry up I'm dying already."  
  
"That kid who suicided was called Jason R Bentley and he wasn't at boarding school, he was at military school. A navy military school. I got landed with the investigation, unfortunately. But I had know idea the parents where suing the band."  
  
"So you have to find out why that guy hung himself or whatever?"  
  
"Yeah. The Juvenile Prophets went to his school I think."  
  
"I read somewhere that they went to military school I think."  
  
"Yeah, well I think that's right I'm not sure. Anyway, because that kid had that song in his suicide note, I went out and bought the album."  
  
"Really?" Chloe squealed, "What's your favourite song?"  
  
"I haven't listened to all of them yet. They're very.. angry."  
  
"Yeah, well my favourite is Not Asking For Much, but I reckon you'd like The Statue Crying Blood."  
  
"I take it you're the authority on this matter?"  
  
"Yeah. I love that album, I listen to it so much. Almost as much as I listen to my Avril Lavigne CD."  
  
"You're making me feel old."  
  
"Please tell me you know who Avril Lavigne is," Chloe said incredulously.  
  
"I know who she is, I liked that I'm With You song of hers, but when I was your age I liked I don't know, people you've never heard of."  
  
In the background, Mac heard Chloe's grandmother's voice.  
  
"Mac, I have to go."  
  
"Are you using the phone again when you're not supposed to?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Chloe!"  
  
"Gotta go bye!" she said as she hung up.  
  
"Goodbye," Mac murmured to no one in particular, hanging up. Sitting in front of the CD player again she decided to listen to the song Chloe liked.  
  
I just wanted to know ya  
  
Get underneath your skin  
  
Cuz I know you're amazing  
  
But you won't let me in  
  
I can sense you're intense  
  
I can feel that you're real  
  
But you have to hide  
  
Everything inside  
  
Shut it away  
  
Lock it away  
  
And never let it out  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Just let me look in your eyes  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Let me see who you are inside  
  
When you talk sometimes  
  
I see the passion in your eyes  
  
And for a second I see  
  
What's under that disguise  
  
I know that ya flow  
  
Deeper than you believe  
  
But you have to conceal  
  
Everything you feel  
  
Keep it from me  
  
Hide it from me  
  
You can't let it out  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Just let me look in your eyes  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Let me see who you are inside  
  
Just let me in  
  
Stop shutting me out  
  
Let me see  
  
What you're about  
  
Just let me in  
  
Stop pushing me away  
  
Let me see  
  
Who you are today  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Just let me look in your eyes  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Let me see who you are inside  
  
Who are you inside?  
  
I'm not asking for much  
  
Just let me in  
  
She fell asleep thinking about Harm.  
  
* * * * * * 


	5. Nightmares

"Get off me!" she protested.  
  
"You're drunk Sarah," her father informed her.  
  
"So are you, fucking hypocrite."  
  
"I've been so lonely since your mother left."  
  
She convulsed in repulsion.  
  
"You are sick, you know that," she replied, feeling nauseous.  
  
"Don't you want to make your father happy."  
  
"Not in that way," she replied honestly, sliding out from underneath him.  
  
"Where are you going bitch?" he asked, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back.  
  
She cried out in pain.  
  
"Dad what the fuck are you doing?"  
  
"Don't make me hurt you. Now come here and lie down like a good girl."  
  
"No way," she refused.  
  
He twisted her arm further behind her back.  
  
"Dad, dad, stop. You'll break my arm.ow!"  
  
"Will you do it?"  
  
"Ok, ok, please just stop," she begged.  
  
He stood behind her, still holding her arm and waited for her to comply with his request.  
  
"Sit up!" he barked as he released her arm.  
  
"Make up your fucking mind," she muttered under her breath, sitting and rubbing her wrist ruefully.  
  
"You're such a slut Sarah," he growled, slapping her across the face.  
  
She glared at him, but said nothing.  
  
Glowering menacingly, he grabbed the neckline of her singlet and ripped it down the centre.  
  
"Take it off!" he demanded.  
  
"Take what off?" she questioned, wide eyed.  
  
"Everything."  
  
"Get fucked," she spat.  
  
He whacked her across the face so hard it made her head throb.  
  
"Don't make me hit you again."  
  
"I won't do it."  
  
The second blow came to the other side of her face within seconds.  
  
"Fuck you," she screamed, complying with his request dizzily.  
  
"It's ok baby, it'll all be ok," he said soothingly as he lay on top of her.  
  
"You bastard, you sick bastard," she mumbled before she slipped into unconsciousness..  
  
Everything was hazy.  
  
He was in her, around her, everywhere. The blow to her temple caused her head to spin and her vision to become blurred. She could taste the alcohol on his breath. She stopped fighting it and surrendered to the sickness in her stomach.  
  
She threw up all over him.  
  
Grabbing whatever was on the nightstand next to the bed, she brought it crashing down on his head. Pushing him away with all her strength, she got up of the bed and pulled her clothes back on then ran from the room.  
  
Skating away from the house with her ripped singlet flapping open in the wind, she had no idea where she was going until Jesse ran out of the shed and grabbed her by the shoulders.  
  
"Sarah, what happened to you?" he asked.  
  
"You know, who cares?" she stated, flipping the skateboard up and catching it, "Let's go inside."  
  
She walked into the shed, through the skateboard down and marched over to the table.  
  
Grabbing a bottle of rum she drank half the bottle before Jesse got a chance to walk inside.  
  
"What do you think of this shirt?" she asked him, finishing the bottle and collapsing on the sofa.  
  
* * * * * * 


	6. Talkies Wif Bandies just read it, can't ...

"We have to interview the parents again, and the band," Mac informed Singer, not bothering with pleasantries.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"The parents are suing."  
  
"Suing who?"  
  
"The band and the Navy."  
  
"What? With all due respect Ma'am, where did you here that?"  
  
"The Admiral just told me. we're in the middle of a mess here."  
  
"Um, what band are you talking about Ma'am?"  
  
"The Juvenile Prophets, they're the group that sung the song in his suicide note. The whole litigation thing changes everything."  
  
"So what do we do next Ma'am?"  
  
"I was hoping you'd have some ideas Lieutenant," Mac sighed wearily.  
  
"I think we should still conduct the investigation at the school, that way we can prove to the parents that we are holding inquiries into the incident to make sure those of it's kind don't happen again."  
  
"I disagree with you. I think we should approach the band's counsel and see how they're going handling the negotiations."  
  
"You're not going to try to convince the parents not to sue?"  
  
"I just don't think they're going to consider any offer we make. This was their son. We don't have much time, we need to make some progress here."  
  
"Ma'am, may I make a suggestion?"  
  
"Please do."  
  
"There's two of us. How about I negotiate with the parents, and you meet with the band?"  
  
"Ok Lieutenant, that sounds like a good proposal," Mac replied cautiously.  
  
Singer, negotiating. That could be no short of disastrous.  
  
"Ma'am?"  
  
"Yes Lieutenant?"  
  
"We were going to meet with Mr and Mrs Bentley tomorrow afternoon.."  
  
"I've arranged a time to meet with the band and their counsel tomorrow."  
  
"Ok Ma'am, um, I guess we'll talk on Friday to compare notes or whatever."  
  
"Ok Lieutenant."  
  
"Uh, I have work to do," Singer said, gesturing towards the door.  
  
"Yeah," Mac replied, watching the woman leave the office.  
  
"Well that was weird," she said to herself after Singer left, turning her head to the mound of paper in front of her.  
  
"There's probably twice my weight in paper there," she complained ruefully, "There goes any hope of leaving before midnight."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Mac sat trying to avoid the stare of the lawyer half her age on the opposite side of the table. There was a giggle in from the outside.  
  
"I hate this mascara, its not waterproof," a voice announced.  
  
Three girls entered the room, dripping wet, with black streams running down their cheeks. One of the them stuck an arm into the hallway and pulled a guy in after them, sporting much the same look.  
  
"Um," she began, "We may look like the living dead, but we're the Juvenile Prophets. It's raining outside."  
  
Mac eyed them warily.  
  
"Don't worry, I'm not insane, I just sound like it," the same girl assured her, "Anyway, I'm Katie Richardson, but everyone calls me Skatie, this Jade Moore and Leah Morrison. He," she paused, pointing at the guy, "Is Matt Evans. And you are Lt Colonel Mackenzie right?"  
  
"Yeah," Mac replied.  
  
"Ms Reid said you wanted to meet us Ma'am," Skatie continued, "Speaking of whom, she should be here right now."  
  
"Ms Reid is your lead counsel right?"  
  
"Yeah, and that," she said, pointing at the guy across the room, "Is actually human, hard to believe I know. He's second chair, Josie O'Donell. Alright, I'm talking too much, someone else can talk now."  
  
"Yeah, how about you all sit down and shut up?" Joseph O'Donell suggested, pointedly glaring at Skatie.  
  
She grinned at him and sat down at the head of the table, Matt and Jade sitting on either side of her with Leah sitting next to Jade. The spot at O'Donell's right was left unoccupied.  
  
"I'm sorry," Joseph apologised, "She should be here by now, I'll just go phone her."  
  
As soon as he left the room, the four kids began to fidget.  
  
Mac turned to face them, "Why don't you tell me about yourselves?" she suggested.  
  
"Ok," Matt agreed, "I'll go first, otherwise Skatie will talk until tomorrow."  
  
Jade and Leah grinned while Skatie glared.  
  
"We're just a bunch of kids that got lucky," he said, "I'm 16, and the oldest in the group, so we're a young band, but we've been playing together for about 2 years now. Skatie is my cousin. It was her idea to form a band while we were at school together."  
  
"You went to Jason Bentley's school didn't you?" Mac queried.  
  
"Yeah, he was in my class," Matt replied.  
  
"Jade and I are 15, and we're in Skatie's year even though she's 14 until December," Leah began, "We all ended up in the same dorm and one night after light's out we discovered we were all into music. Jade and I play guitar while Skatie sings. She drafted a few songs, we started playing them and the rest just sought of happened."  
  
"We needed a percussionist, so we asked Matt," Skatie interrupted, "Then we just started rehearsing in the gym one weekend, and half the school turned up to listen. We played half a dozen songs and I'm up there, singing, and I jump down when we've finished and this kid says to be, man you guys are like Jesus to the kids of today. It got me thinking, we should be called the Juvenile Prophets. We kept playing on weekends, and kids still turned up to listen. I was completely psyched. From the moment I got up there, I loved it. So I suggested we send out some demos..."  
  
"Which we did," Matt interrupted, "And we got signed to Rebel Records and the rest is history. Our first single, The Youth of Today, went straight to number one. Our album is the biggest success Rebel has had in a year, and we really can't believe it happened to us."  
  
"I want to talk to you about that song," Mac stated, "The Youth of Today, you wrote it didn't you?"  
  
"Yeah," Jade replied.  
  
"Why did you write it?"  
  
"Because we saw this show about how America betrayed the Kurds in the last Gulf War," Leah answered, "And we're just like, well we're not going to grow up and do that to any one."  
  
"And everywhere you go there's adults telling you that you have to change, complaining that kids today have no respect and are going nowhere," Jade added.  
  
"It was basically just committing us, the youth of today, to change," Matt said, "We're sick of your lies and your filthy corruption, hiding behind your cheap disguise your spreaders of destruction, you call us the misguided youth, this is what we have to say, we're sick of your morbid truth, we are the youth of today."  
  
"Yeah, what about the first verse?" Mac inquired, "What have we got to live for? Atomic bombs and nuclear war. do you think that could be interpreted the wrong way?"  
  
"Yeah, but you could make that point about any of our songs." Skatie pointed out, "I wrote that bit because sometimes, when you look around, the future seems so bleak and you really do wonder what you're living for."  
  
"What about your song I Want To Die? Couldn't that be interpreted in advocating suicide?"  
  
"I Want To Die goes I want to die, don't ask me why, look around you, you'd wanna die too, if you saw. it's about seeing the problems in the world and struggling to find the strength to deal with them," Skatie answered, "And I think every teenager feels that way sometimes, like it's all too much and there's no reason to keep living. Our music is a way of letting them know they're not alone, that other people feel exactly the same and that there is a reason to hold on."  
  
Mac was about to ask another question when Joseph O'Donnell entered the room, followed by Ms Reid, who looked wet and exhausted.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," she addressed the group, sinking into her chair, "I got caught up in the family court. Couldn't you just drop the restraining order?" she asked, directing her question at Skatie.  
  
"No way, I'm sick of my father's mentality. He can't do stuff like that to me and get away with it any more!" she scowled.  
  
"Um, I'm sorry if I've missed something, but what does your father do to you?" Mac asked, intrigued by the girl's statement.  
  
"He hits me, he yells at me and just generally abuses me," Skatie replied, "My mother took my little sister and left about a year ago and I'm just sick of the way he treated us and the way he treats me. That's not really relevant here, though, let's get back to the point."  
  
"Yes," Jennifir Reid said sharply, "I thought we'd agreed not to discuss it openly."  
  
"Who cares about legalities? I'm sick of keeping it a damn secret," Skatie informed the woman heatedly, "He does it, why shouldn't he have to face the consequences?"  
  
"We'll discuss this later Kathleen. Right now, we're talking about the inconvenience of this tragedy to your band and the United States Navy."  
  
"Ms Reid, if you don't mind me asking, how are you going to handle the proceedings?" Mac queried.  
  
"The Juvenile Prophets have agreed to make an offer to reimburse the boy's parents for the funeral and to make another public statement to inform other teenagers that suicide is not cool."  
  
"We're also going to write a song for Jason," Skatie piped up, silencing herself again when Ms Reid glared at her.  
  
"The proceeds of which will be split. 50% going to Jason's parents and 50% going to teen counselling services across the country."  
  
"Ok. Could the Navy perhaps contribute to this deal in some way?"  
  
"Are you suggesting a partnership between our two parties?"  
  
"Well they're suing us collectively and your clients did attend a United States Navy military school prior to their success in the music industry."  
  
Skatie scribbled something on a piece of paper and pushed it under Jennifir Reid's nose: Say yes.  
  
"I'd have to discuss such a deal with my clients and their guardians before accepting."  
  
"And I'd have to contact co-counsel and my superiors before making any settlement offer."  
  
"So we'll talk again sometime. How about Wednesday next week?"  
  
"Um, if that's good for you."  
  
"I'll see you then, same place, same time."  
  
"Ok."  
  
All five got up and prepared to leave. Mac left not quite sure what she was getting herself into.  
  
* * * * * * 


	7. Dreamt Reality

She lay in her bed, hugging her knees to her chest as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt so alone, so unwanted.  
  
"I tried to please you dad, I did everything, you forced me to do everything," she whispered into her pillow.  
  
She tried to ignore the bruises on her arms, the bleeding of her tongue.  
  
He did that.  
  
The thought came before she could suppress it.  
  
He did lot's of things.  
  
Suddenly the walls she had built around the memories came crashing down around her. The painful images leaked into her consciousness uninvited.  
  
Her father above her, bearing down on her like a shark on it's prey.  
  
His teeth closing around her neck, her lips, her tongue.  
  
His hands on her flesh, white from lack of exposure to the sun.  
  
The taste of his breath in her mouth.  
  
The blade of his knife pressed into her thigh.  
  
The feel of him, moving in and out of her.  
  
Then her.  
  
Her voice, screaming in protest.  
  
Her hands, clawing into his back, pushing him away, fighting.. Until she realised he enjoyed her struggles.  
  
Her lungs, gasping and struggling for air at the onset of her asthma. The burning in her chest, like molten fire as she fought for every breath.  
  
The rigidness of her body, lying paralysed in her bed as he loomed above her.  
  
The sickening whirling within her stomach, complimenting her convulsive shudders.  
  
The angry tears that slid down her cheeks as she pressed her eyes closed, trying to block out the scene unfolding around her.  
  
She cried to herself, choking, racking sobs coming from deep within her chest, willing the emptiness inside her to flood out with the tears.  
  
The aching inside her chest was becoming hard to bear. In a deep wheezing gasp, she reached for her inhaler.  
  
Inserting in her mouth and breathing deeply, she tried to ignore the hand tightening around her windpipe.  
  
"Breathe!" she ordered herself quietly, "It'll be Ok, you'll be Ok."  
  
Still fighting to restore her respiration, she heard the front door close and her mother's laugh echo in the hallway.  
  
Her stupid whore faced mother, who did know anything about her father. Her stupid mother who still made her go to her father every week. Made her go to him to be humiliated, to be stripped of whatever innocence she had left.  
  
Her mother's voice drifted through the door, bright and airy. Giggling at the lame jokes of her latest boyfriend.  
  
The girl inhaled noisily in disgust.  
  
Every Wednesday and Friday night it was the same..  
  
"I'm going out tonight, do you mind sweetie?"  
  
"Yes, I damn well mind," she shouted in a raspy whisper hitting the pillow, "I hate you. You always go out with these stupid bastards who are just completely wasted half the time. What about me mother? Don't you care about me? Why? What did I do?"  
  
Then she was banished to her fathers house for a weekend visit to hell.  
  
She hated that house with such passion.  
  
The curtains were always drawn, creating a dark, dank atmosphere in the living room. The windows were never opened. The bedrooms were musty and the dust set off her asthma. The stench of rotting fish in the kitchen was disgusting.  
  
That was her father's second love-after his sadist habits- fishing.  
  
Ever since she could remember, her father had smelt of fish. He was happier on his boat than anywhere in the world.  
  
Then the accident happened.  
  
Her father's boat had smashed up against the huge breakwater in the bay during a storm. He had been left with the vision of only one eye, and horrendous burns down one side of his body. After that accident, nothing was the same.  
  
Her mother had filed for a divorce.  
  
Her father had slipped into an abusive depression.  
  
She buried her head in the pillow again.  
  
That stupid accident.  
  
It had wrecked everything: her father's boat, her parent's marriage, her life.  
  
"Why? Why did you do it God? Why don't you care about me?" she asked the pillow bitterly, "Why does no one care about me?"  
  
* * * * * * 


	8. I'll be original: Chapter 8

Lt Loren Singer heard the knock on the door and buried her head further into the pillow. It occurred to her that it was around 12 pm and she had neglected to turn up at JAG that morning. Miss Powerhungry- Ambitious was silenced by Miss Human-Heart.  
  
Tears slid from the corners of her closed eyes. She pulled the covers over her head, willing the sounds sights and tastes of her current situation to fade into a cloud of anonymous mist. A haze in which she could forget the pain inside her, the wounds of her soul.  
  
She had slept nearly 14 hours but she was utterly exhausted, her spirit and motivation completely drained. She felt lost, alone and empty inside. In her world there was no one to turn to, no one who cared. She had made sure of that all these years after she made some sought of recovery from her childhood.  
  
"Everybody has a way of coping with this world."  
  
The words of the therapist her mother had thrust upon her. Yes, everyone had a way of dealing with the world. and hers was by shutting it out, along with all the people in it. If they don't know you, how can they hurt you? she had rationalised, all these lonely years. No one would be able to hurt her like her parents again, because no one would ever be that close again.  
  
Crying to herself under the covers, she admitted it was not such a good method of coping. The walls she had built had come crashing down because of a single dream.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Mac began to get frustrated standing at Singer's door.  
  
"I am not going to wait around all day for that bitch," she murmured to herself, sliding her credit card and nail scissors out of her purse.  
  
Using the nail scissors to pry the lock apart, she quickly slid the credit card between the small gap and wedged the lock open. Turning the door handle quickly, she entered the silent apartment and let the door slam shut behind her.  
  
She took several steps across the wooden floor, the sound of her heels clicking against the ground echoing slightly in the silence. Stopping in front of the open bedroom door, she entered the room cautiously.  
  
"Lieutenant Singer?" she called.  
  
A human form sat upright very quickly, the covers falling away to reveal a very tired looking Singer.  
  
"Ma'am, you scared me," she intoned shakily, her eyes red and her cheeks tearstained.  
  
"I came to ask you why you missed the meeting with the Bentley's."  
  
"I'm sorry Ma'am, I must've overslept."  
  
"Don't worry about it, I cancelled it. We're doing it tomorrow."  
  
"I'm sorry, I should've."  
  
"It's alright, there's a lot of pressure to get them to settle, we need to formulate some sought of strategy anyway."  
  
"Um, I agree Ma'am. If you give me half an hour I can meet you at JAG and we can work on that."  
  
"That would be unnecessary as the Admiral has given both of us the afternoon off..."  
  
"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?" "Denied."  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"Lieutenant."  
  
"No, let's just forget we're military officers for one minute and just be human beings. What are you doing here? How did you get in? Please, I just want some answers."  
  
"Ok, if we're just being human beings, I was worried about you."  
  
Singer looked taken aback.  
  
"There's something no one knows about you. You're not as cold and heartless as you seem. And I want to know why. I have your file right here," Mac held the folder up for the other woman to read.  
  
"How did you get that? That's private information," Singer protested.  
  
"I haven't read it," Mac assured her, "I also have mine here. How about you get dressed and we'll look through them together?"  
  
"Why? What would that achieve? What would it prove?"  
  
"I think it would be a benefit to both of us. After all we probably do have a long trial ahead of us. Maybe we should get to know each other better."  
  
Singer glared the reluctantly agreed.  
  
"Well that went well enough," Mac thought to herself.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Lt Singer looked at the reflection of her face in the bathroom mirror.  
  
"How did she do that?" she asked herself quietly, "How did she just get me to reveal my entire past to someone I barely know?"  
  
She had promised the same of herself though.  
  
"Yeah, I wonder what we'll find there? Who knows, maybe she didn't have a date to the formal?" Singer muttered sarcastically staring at the ugly scars on her wrist bitterly. What had she done to deserve this curse called life?  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A/N: I wonder what they'll find out? (Hmm.. It's a little obvious isn't it? A little too predictable I think. Oh well, I tried.)  
  
Oh and the bit on how to pick a lock. that does actually work on some locks. He he, some things you could only learn at my school (a catholic school btw). 


	9. While we're on this originality bender: ...

"What do you think you're going to find out about me?" Singer glared, "What do you want to find out about me? I thought you all hated me, so why do you care about my past?"  
  
"What don't you want me to find out?" Mac countered, beginning to feel frustrated.  
  
"I just don't know what you think this is gonna prove."  
  
"Human beings just aren't as cold as you without reason."  
  
"Fine. Who's going first?"  
  
Mac tossed Singer one of the folders, "You can read mine."  
  
Singer regarded her cautiously, then agreed. She skipped the first section, which was personal details and started reading personal history.  
  
"Your parents were separated, you lived with your father but you repeatedly ran away from home and stayed with friends and at a youth shelter. Several times you were admitted to hospital because of excessive alcohol consumption and twice because you tried to kill yourself" Singer looked up, "And you were an alcoholic."  
  
They sat in silence for several minutes, Mac unsure of how to reply. The woman had made it sound so depressing.  
  
Singer studied the Marine sitting opposite her, "I never would've thought." she began.  
  
"No, not a lot of people would," Mac interrupted, "Most people I meet think I must've lived a fairy tale. They think my worst problem as a teenager was probably not having a date to a high school dance or something."  
  
Singer scrutinised the carpet at her feet sheepishly, "I guess I thought that too."  
  
"Why do people think that?" Mac asked, glaring at the scars on her wrists angrily.  
  
"Because, look at you. You've, I don't know, you're beautiful and successful and you don't look like someone who's been through hell."  
  
"What makes you think you do?"  
  
"The scars," Singer replied, taking of her watch and displaying the chain of beadlike scars encircling her wrist.  
  
"I wanted a bracelet for my 12th birthday," she explained, "It's sought of like a tradition in our family. my mother and her sister got matching bracelets on their 12th birthday from my grandmother. My cousin, who's the same age as me, got one on her birthday a few weeks before. But my mother forgot," she paused, "And I got angry so I decided to burn myself a bracelet. The only problem was you couldn't take it off."  
  
Mac nodded in acknowledgment, "I had a friend who used to mutilate herself when she got angry or upset. I never did it, I used to go out and drink until I didn't know who I was, or wreck things. Once I broke my mother's diamond necklace after she yelled at me. This other time I threw the crystal bowl they got as a wedding present through the window," she paused, "It all seems very immature now."  
  
"I know," Singer agreed, putting her watch back on over the scars, "Are you going to read mine now?"  
  
"If you want me to."  
  
"I think its Ok."  
  
"Alright then." Mac read studiously for several minutes before Singer interrupted, "You know, why don't I just tell you? There's heaps of stuff left out there any way."  
  
"Ok."  
  
"I grew up in this small town on the coast of North Carolina. My father was a fisherman, there's not a day I remember as a young girl when dad wasn't fishing. My mother used to say she didn't see the ocean until she was 12 years old and I could never imagine not having seen the sea, or boats except in pictures. I pretty much grew up on his boat. That was before the accident. We used to get some terrible storms in the winter and one year, dad was moving the boat into a more sheltered spot and it smashed up against the breakwater in the bay. The petrol tank exploded I think, because he had second degree burns and lost the sight of one eye. After that, he didn't have his boat and he couldn't get a license to operate a new one because of his vision."  
  
Singer stopped suddenly, "Am I boring you?"  
  
"No, keep going."  
  
"This is where it gets difficult, maybe you should read the rest. But no, because this isn't in the file. Ok, without his boat, dad was miserable. He had nothing to do, and was constantly bored. He'd always been a bit odd, I remember, even as a little girl I was sometimes afraid of him. But after the accident, things were much worse. He became violent and was always feeling sorry for himself. Looking back on it, I think he must've been mentally unstable, and the accident just sought of pushed him of the edge. A few months after, my mother filed for a divorce. Dad moved out, but was granted joint custody, so I had to go and visit him every weekend."  
  
Singer stopped again, "I can't tell you the rest. It's just, I just can't." she trailed off, her head sinking into her hands, shaking slightly.  
  
"What happened?" Mac questioned gently.  
  
"I already told you I can't tell you," Singer sobbed irritably, "It's too difficult and."  
  
"Did your father hurt you?"  
  
"Just a little," she murmured, inhaling deeply and looking up once again, "My father used to. he. he was a paedophile."  
  
Mac seemed lost in her own thoughts for a moment, before replying, "How old where you?"  
  
"I was ten when it started. My mother moved interstate to marry my step- father when I was 16, so I didn't see dad very often after that. But 6 years, 6 years of, of."  
  
"Hell," Mac supplied.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I was 18, so it was bit different. He did it once, I left after that. I've never spoken to him again. he died a few years back now."  
  
"I haven't spoken to my father, or my mother, since I was 16. I stopped talking before we moved to Philadelphia. After that I was in and out of hospitals and clinics with depression and drug induced hallucinations. I started talking again in the clinics, but refused to speak to either of my parents. I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Pennsylvania, but I was released 3 months after my 18th birthday. I continued with the drugs for a bit. I had this boyfriend who was in with that scene. After he broke up with me, I went into rehab therapy and just sought of stopped. But I was depressed, and I tried to kill myself twice. I was admitted to hospital twice as well for excessive blood loss and burns, but that was just self mutilation. I never intended to actually kill myself those times. I was 24 when I joined the Navy. I needed a job and I had no money to go to university. I figured it wouldn't be that bad, because I loved boats and the ocean. Becoming a lawyer sought of just happened, and that's how I ended up here, in Washington DC, telling you about all of this for some unknown reason."  
  
"Are your parents still alive?"  
  
"I don't know and I don't care."  
  
"I felt that way. I didn't want to face them, it was too hard, too painful, too scary. But when my father died, I wished I had the chance to apologise, to tell him something, anything. Just so the last thing I ever said to him wasn't you bastard, you sick bastard."  
  
"You feel guilty?"  
  
"A little. He was drunk, he had no idea what he was doing half the time. My mother however, who left when I was 15. she had no excuse for what she did to me. But I still wish the last thing I screamed at her was I hate you."  
  
"I can't remember what the last thing I said to my parents was. Silence was far more effective any way. I remember the last time I saw my mother. She was in the hospital corridor, so I turned and left the back way. My father, I've tried to forget about him. It's just too confusing. Every weekend for 6 years I went to his dingy little house by the bay, I used to call it the house of horrors. Because for me, it was."  
  
"And it's confusing because you love him?"  
  
"No, yes. I'm not really sure."  
  
The two women sat remembering in silence. After several minutes, Singer spoke.  
  
"So what did that prove?" she asked quietly, placing both files on the ground at her feet.  
  
"That you're not the only one, Loren."  
  
* * * * * * 


	10. Chapter 10

When Mac and Singer arrived at the Juvenile Prophet's studio for the meeting with the Bentley's, the group where rehearsing. loudly. (A/N: Which of course is the only way to play music.)  
  
These people try to tell me  
  
That I don't know what it's about  
  
It gets me so pissed off  
  
Sometimes I wanna shout  
  
I know about life  
  
And I think it's crazy  
  
It's just not fair  
  
They think I'm a baby  
  
Don't say I'm too young  
  
To know what I'm saying  
  
I know where its at  
  
And I ain't playing  
  
Don't say I'm too young  
  
I know that I'm real  
  
Don't say I'm too young  
  
I'm not too young  
  
To feel  
  
Singer just looked at the group, who were playing energetically.  
  
"Yeah, they have issues with the world," Mac informed her.  
  
"They're good though."  
  
"They're amazing."  
  
Don't say that I'm too young  
  
I'm sick of your kind  
  
And I'm not going to hide  
  
What I feel inside  
  
I'm sick of this life  
  
And you don't care  
  
I hate things your way  
  
Life's an empty affair  
  
Stop trying to tell me  
  
That I don't have a clue  
  
Because I know where it's at  
  
So FUCK YOU  
  
I'm not to young  
  
To know what's going on  
  
And I know it's wrong  
  
The world is complicated  
  
It's overrated  
  
Gets me frustrated  
  
Sick of being hated  
  
You're so outdated  
  
Ms Reid suddenly spotted the two women, and approached them shouting a greeting over the music.  
  
"Hi, come into my office," she invited, leading them down the hall and into a small room. She closed the door and sat at her desk.  
  
"Right, now you can hear me, we might be able to make some progress. Mr and Mrs Bentley will be here in about 15 minutes."  
  
"Ok. Let's run through the offer as stands," Singer suggested.  
  
"The Juvenile Prophets are paying the parents approximately $20 000 and releasing a song in Jason's memory," Ms Reid said.  
  
"And the United States Navy is paying the parents $25 000 and promising to upgrade the counselling services at Jason's school," Mac concluded.  
  
"If they don't accept, how much can you add to that offer?" Ms Reid asked.  
  
"Not a whole lot Ma'am," Singer answered.  
  
"We can only offer them the 25 thousand. Any more and we'd have to go through the whole approval process again."  
  
"Then may I propose you offer them $20 000 to begin with. it means you can improve if they don't accept."  
  
The other two nodded in agreement.  
  
"Right, now let's get those kids in here," Ms Reid suggested, "I'll go get them, and you meet me in the conference room next door. You know where that is?" she questioned, directing her question at Mac.  
  
The Marine nodded in conformation.  
  
5 minutes later they were sitting in the room with 4 teenagers.  
  
"Hi," Skatie greeted them, "Who's that?"  
  
Leah, Matt and Jade cringed at her tactlessness.  
  
"I'm Lt Loren Singer," Singer said, grinning slightly.  
  
"Ok," the girl replied simply, flopping down on a chair.  
  
"You guys are pretty good," Singer told them.  
  
Matt shrugged modestly, "There's better."  
  
"We are good though," Skatie admitted, smiling wickedly.  
  
Jade and Leah glared at her.  
  
"What?" she questioned innocently.  
  
Just then Mrs Reid, Joseph O'Donnell, Mr and Mrs Bentley and their lawyer entered the room.  
  
"I'll give you a brief outline of our case. Mr and Mrs Bentley believe you have breached your duty of care in regard to their son's death. As a result, they will be requesting damages as seen fit by a United States judge," the lawyer said, after introducing himself and his clients.  
  
"Firstly, on behalf of both parties here today, I would like to apologise for the loss of your son," Ms Reid replied, "However, the United States Navy and the Juvenile Prophets have agreed to make a settlement offer. That offer is outlined in these documents," she said, pushing a file across the table to Mr Resdon, the Bentley's lawyer.  
  
Mr Resdon relayed the offer to his clients.  
  
"No," was all Mr Bentley said, "Our son is dead because of you people."  
  
"Well make it $50 000 in total," Singer said.  
  
"You cannot put a price on this kids life," the lawyer stated calmly, "Mr and Mrs Bentley will accept no offer at the present time. We'll talk again."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Why couldn't they just take it?" Singer asked in frustration, "No matter what we pay them their son will still be dead."  
  
"And this could take months, even years, to settle," Mac commented.  
  
They were seated in the Admiral's office, discussing the afternoons events with their CO. Needless to say, none of them were very happy. In fact, Singer was practically steaming.  
  
"They didn't even bother to READ what offered," she muttered.  
  
"Well, I trust you can handle this without attracting too much negative publicity," AJ said, regarding Singer cautiously.  
  
"Yes Sir," the two replied.  
  
"I have to straighten this out with the higher powers," the Admiral sighed wearily, "Dismissed."  
  
"Yes Sir," they repeated, exiting the office quickly.  
  
"Why did that stupid kid have to kill himself?" Singer mumbled.  
  
Mac glared at her impatiently, "That's a bit hypocritical coming from you. You wonder why everyone here hates you. Stop complaining, please."  
  
"I'm sorry I'm the way I am," Singer replied angrily.  
  
"Well you could at least try to be half decent to people."  
  
"You wouldn't understand."  
  
"Oh please, stop being so immature. You have a phobia: of human beings. Don't you think that's a little stupid?"  
  
"But I can't help it! Why don't you understand that?" Singer questioned, raising her voice.  
  
"You're the only one who can help it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start trying!"  
  
"I am. I have been. But I can't just change overnight. Is that what you expected?"  
  
Mac was silent.  
  
"I thought you might be different to everyone else in my life, but you're not. Everyone just expects me to be perfect, to get everything right and not to get angry or annoyed or hurt."  
  
"I'm sorry, I just."  
  
"Just leave me alone, please," Singer requested quietly.  
  
"No, that's the way you deal with everything, asking it to go away. Your father, your childhood. it's not going to. Believe me, I know. No matter what you do, you'll always remember the things you wich you could forget."  
  
"It's different for you."  
  
"Why? Don't you think it was hard for me to accept what happened to me as a teenager? It still is."  
  
"Yeah, but you're not alone."  
  
"Neither are you! There are 6. 999 999 999 other people on this planet. What makes you think you're alone? How can you be so selfish?"  
  
"I know, Ok. I know it's selfish, I know it's awful. but it doesn't matter, nothing matters. Because no matter what I still feel alone, I still hurt so much I wish I was DEAD!"  
  
"EVERYONE feels like that sometimes. are you that self-absorbed that you don't understand that?"  
  
"It doesn't make any difference if everyone else feels the way I do. it doesn't make my pain any less!"  
  
"You know what does? People who care about you! You complain about being alone, but you're horrible to everyone!"  
  
"They'll just hurt me."  
  
"How do you know if you don't give them the chance?"  
  
"I just do."  
  
"You are pathetic," Mac retorted in disgusted, "No one can help you because you won't let them."  
  
Singer didn't reply, she just walked away angrily and waited until she was alone before she cried.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A/N: Was Mac too harsh? I think maybe that was a bit out of character, but she can be a bitch when she wants to. *grins* catfight! 


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Well, summer holidays are almost over here in Qld, Australia. so here I am, 4 days before I surrender my precious freedom, cooped up in my room, trying to drown out the noise of my sister vacuuming with Avril Lavigne, attempting to write fanfiction faster than I breathe. Yeah, I want to get this finished before skool starts: I wish.. Oh well, there's always Religion lessons.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
The next morning, Mac sat at her desk for two hours feeling guilty for what she'd said to Singer.  
  
"I mean, you know what it's like when everyone just says to get over it, it makes it worse," she murmured to herself, admitting she was wrong privately, but not yet willing to apologise.  
  
When the phone rang, she was grateful for the distraction. It was Joseph O'Donnell, requesting her presence at the Rebel Records studio. Agreeing to meet him there in half an hour, she set the phone down carefully.  
  
Sighing in foresight, she stood and began looking for Singer.  
  
"Um, our presence was requested at the Rebel Records studio," Mac informed Singer after locating her in the library.  
  
"Ok," she replied.  
  
Then she was silent.  
  
When they arrived at the studio half an hour later, neither had spoken a word. Entering the large room slowly, they found it empty.  
  
"You wait here, I'll go find them," Mac said to Singer, who refused to speak in a brooding reticence.  
  
She found all the other rooms empty except for one. Sitting on the floor of a small practise room was Skatie. She was singing quietly to herself unaware she had an audience.  
  
I'm not about to conceal  
  
What I am, how I feel  
  
I'm not hiding from the world  
  
But God knows I've tried  
  
And I hate it  
  
Hiding it inside  
  
Mac listened to the song, wrapt in the girls voice, thinking about the lyrics she had heard, when Skatie whirled around and stared at her.  
  
"I had no idea you were here," she breathed in shock.  
  
"I know."  
  
"I'm not supposed to be here, I. I spent the weekend with my father. Sought of ran away and ended up here. Ms Reid will be really angry at me if she knows. She's just gone to put another application for a restraining order in this morning."  
  
"Joseph said he'd meet me here," Mac replied, confused.  
  
"Yeah, I know. They left just as I was getting here. I'm not fully sure why, but they do manage the legal affairs of a few other kid celebrities, so maybe something came up."  
  
Just then Mac's mobile rang.  
  
"Hello?" she answered.  
  
"Hey, it's me, Joseph. Sorry we missed you, but something came up with this kid actor's parent's divorce and we really had to be there."  
  
"That's Ok. Um, what did you want to see me for?"  
  
"I had to tell you the Bentley's decided to accept the offer. They met us here this morning and wanted to tell you themselves. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. they said to apologise for causing you any trouble."  
  
"That's a change of heart."  
  
"Apparently their daughter told them they shouldn't be trying to assign blame for Jason's death. I don't know, some family moment story. Don't know much about them myself."  
  
"You should learn. Thanks Joseph, it's been a pleasure working with you and Ms Reid."  
  
"You too, I'll see you around DC sometime."  
  
"Perhaps, bye."  
  
She hung up.  
  
"God I hope I don't see him around," she muttered.  
  
"Who? Josie?" Skatie grinned, "He's alright. It's Ms Reid who's the problem."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She doesn't believe me about my father."  
  
"I know what that's like," Singer interrupted from the hallway.  
  
"It's getting crowded in here," Skatie said, shooing them into the hall, "Let's go talk in the studio."  
  
"Perhaps you should go back to your fathers place," Mac suggested gently.  
  
"Perhaps not," Skatie replied immediately.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because he's awful to me."  
  
"Why don't you tell him how you feel?" Singer asked.  
  
"He wouldn't listen."  
  
"Try," Mac stated.  
  
"You two are ganging up on me," Skatie replied defensively.  
  
"Listen, we, both of us, know what it's like having abusive parents," Singer informed the teenager, "And believe me, running away doesn't make it better."  
  
"Ok, I'm going home," Skatie surrendered.  
  
"My father died. the last time I spoke to him, I called him a sick bastard. It's not good for your conscience," Mac assured her.  
  
"Are you saying I should I try to talk to my father?"  
  
"Yes!" they both exclaimed in unison.  
  
"I'll try." Skatie trailed off, "I can tell you're going to personally escort me to the front door, so let's go."  
  
"Stupidly I trust you," Mac said as they walked out the door, "You go."  
  
"Ok, see ya."  
  
Skatie ran off in the opposite direction without another word.  
  
"Well that was strange," Mac remarked.  
  
Silence ensued.  
  
"Loren, I'm sorry," she began.  
  
Singer didn't reply.  
  
"They decided to accept the offer," Mac said quietly, not sure of what to say.  
  
"You're so judgemental sometimes Ma'am. But I was wrong to conduct myself the way I did. Can we, um, be friends?" Singer questioned awkwardly.  
  
Mac smiled to herself, "I thought you'd never ask."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A/N: I DID IT!!! This is the last chapter I had to write (as I wrote 14 and then 12, then 13 in that order)! It's finished! *Jubilant author freaks readers out* 


	12. Chapter 12

She looked at the scars on her wrists.  
  
From the night her mother left.  
  
"Blood."  
  
She said the word and smiled.  
  
Bleeding, if she cut them again she would bleed.  
  
"And die," she screamed, "And hopefully die."  
  
This time she wouldn't just try, she'd do it. She was sick of living, sick of everything. And she was tired. She just wanted to sleep.  
  
Raising the knife, she studied her warped reflection in the blade.  
  
"My saviour," she whispered, closing her eyes and pressing the blade into her hand.  
  
When she opened her eyes again, there was blood seeping from her palm, dripping from her hand to a puddle at her feet.  
  
Death.  
  
The word seemed so peaceful, so serene.  
  
And this time it would be guaranteed. Not like the last time. She'd survived last time. This time was the end. There would be no more trying after tonight.  
  
She reached for the pills beside her on the table.  
  
The girl had told her two would do.  
  
She popped four into her bleeding palm.  
  
Placing her hand over her mouth, she tipped them into her mouth and swallowed them with the blood pooling in her cupped hand.  
  
Then she handled the knife again.  
  
In a methodic motion, she slid it into the white flesh of her wrist, pulling slowly.  
  
Breathing nervously, she watched as the blood trickled down her arm.  
  
She raised the knife again, Bringing it down in a sweeping motion, she stopped just before it made contact with her uncut wrist. Then she plunged it into her arm, engraving her wrist with a broken heart.  
  
Glaring at the image angrily, she slashed across it a few times, trying to blur the depiction.  
  
The knife clattered to the floor.  
  
She didn't remember dropping it.  
  
Holding her hands out in front of her with her palms facing the ceiling, she studied her wounds with awe.  
  
The blood flooded from her, falling softly to the floor.  
  
Then the door opened.  
  
"No!" she cried, "Go away, leave me alone!"  
  
Her vision became blotchy, black spots appearing everywhere.  
  
"What are you doing Sarah?" came his voice.  
  
Then she fell to the floor, and all the colours faded into blackness.  
  
* * * * * * 


	13. Wish I Could Tell U

Mac groaned and consulted her internal clock, knowing it was time to extract herself from the warm comforting covers and prepare for a day she just knew was going to be horrible. Sighing, she willed herself to get out of bed, getting as far as sitting up for 12 seconds, then flopping down again.  
  
"Too difficult," she murmured sleepily, "Should just stay in bed."  
  
Groaning again, she finally managed to sit, then stand and eventually walk. Realising it was 10 past 7, she cursed in several different languages. Her stomach was reminding her that she was starving, she didn't have time to blow dry her hair and she was late.  
  
Half an hour, she was stuck in the morning traffic. Running her hand through her dripping wet hair, she felt like screaming in frustration. Absently switching the radio  
  
I don't believe in fairy tales  
  
Or miracles  
  
They call me pessimistic  
  
That's Ok  
  
Cuz this world is a dreary  
  
Weary, fucked up place  
  
Then there's you  
  
You're the only thing I know  
  
That's not wrong  
  
You're the only thing I know  
  
That's simply right  
  
And when I'm around you  
  
The world disappears  
  
And nothing else matters  
  
It's so surreal  
  
And I wish I could tell you  
  
How I feel  
  
I don't believe in happiness  
  
Or karma  
  
Fate's only been a bitch to me  
  
That's all right  
  
Cuz this earth is a dying  
  
Trying, screwed up place  
  
Then there's you  
  
I don't believe in religion  
  
Or destiny  
  
Mine's only been a catastrophe  
  
That's Ok  
  
Cuz this planet is a dismal  
  
Abysmal, stuffed up place  
  
Then there's you  
  
I believe friendship  
  
Because you're always there  
  
I believe in love  
  
Please tell me if you care  
  
I believe in you  
  
I believe in honesty  
  
Please would you tell me  
  
Do you believe in me?  
  
It's all right  
  
This world is a messed up, mixed up, screwed up place  
  
Then there's you  
  
You're the only thing I know  
  
That's not wrong  
  
You're the only thing I know  
  
That's simply right  
  
And when I'm around you  
  
The world disappears  
  
And nothing else matters  
  
It's so surreal  
  
And I wish I could tell you  
  
How I feel  
  
I just wish I could tell you  
  
"What are you listening to?" Harm asked her, arriving five seconds later than her.  
  
She laughed, "Good morning to you too."  
  
He grinned back, "Your hair's wet, you were late."  
  
She put a hand to head, "Well it partially dried in the traffic. How can you stand that every morning?"  
  
"Impatient."  
  
"Well I made it here with only 10 homicidal retribution fantasies. it's all the women putting make-up on at the lights." (A/N: Does that really annoy any one else or am I just weird? Wait a minute, don't answer that.)  
  
"Catty."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Are you coming?"  
  
"Just wait."  
  
Using her fingers she unsuccessfully attempted to de-frizz her hair.  
  
"So that's what happens when you don't have time to make yourself beautiful," he commented teasingly as she stepped out beside him.  
  
"You don't know how hard it is being a woman," she replied.  
  
"You look perfect, don't worry about it."  
  
She looked at him strangely, "Was that a compliment?"  
  
He returned her look, "Yes."  
  
"Are you trying to hit on me?" (A/N: And she's thinking please God, say yes.)  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you sick?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You just. complimented me. That's. strange."  
  
"Flattered Marine?"  
  
She paused thoughtfully, "Surprised describes it better."  
  
"Mac, do you ever feel like there's things you can't tell me?" he questioned spontaneously, tracing her jaw softly.  
  
She regarded his question silently for several moments, then whispered, "Now I'm flattered."  
  
Her hand closed around his wrist and she turned her face so his finger brushed her lips, "No, I could tell you anything."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A/N: I hate writing little wars of wits between H/M. I end up with this line I have no reply to, *grr*. Well this chapter was nice and shippery wasn't it? But they sought of forgot they were late. 


	14. I don't know

Mac was absently picking at the food in front of her listening to the radio, when she found herself completely enraptured by a song she'd never heard before. She sat in a trance and listened.  
  
So here I am again, dreaming about you  
  
And what it would be like  
  
If you were here by my side  
  
I find myself again  
  
Wanting to be with you  
  
Tonight  
  
Because I love the night  
  
When I'm with you  
  
I don't know why I'm laughing  
  
I don't know why I'm standing here, grinning stupidly  
  
But every time you look my way  
  
The only words that I can say  
  
Are I love you  
  
So here we are again, dancing one more time  
  
What would it be like  
  
If this was forever  
  
I find myself again  
  
Crying in your arms  
  
Tonight  
  
Because this feels so right  
  
Please don't let go  
  
I don't know why I'm laughing  
  
I don't know why I'm standing here, grinning stupidly  
  
But every time you look my way  
  
The only words that I can say  
  
Are I love you  
  
So here I am again, lying in the dark  
  
And seeing your face  
  
In my mind  
  
I find myself again  
  
Praying that you'll be here  
  
Tonight  
  
Because the stars don't shine as bright  
  
When you're gone  
  
I don't know why I'm laughing  
  
I don't know why I'm standing here, grinning stupidly  
  
But every time you look my way  
  
The only words that I can say  
  
Are true  
  
The only words I can say  
  
Are I love you  
  
"And I'm so stupid for not telling you," she murmured to herself, grabbing the phone before she had a chance to change her mind. After the fourth ring, she began to get nervous.  
  
"You're just calling him for crying out loud. You're not going to say anything, you're just."  
  
"Hello? Mac, is that you?"  
  
"Yeah, hi."  
  
"Are you Ok?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Harm, where are you?"  
  
"About halfway home, why?"  
  
"Could you come over here? I, I just want to talk to you."  
  
"Alright, Are you sure you're Ok?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll see you in 15 minutes right?"  
  
"Ok."  
  
She hung up without saying goodbye, and leant against the wall, breathless.  
  
"I've got to stop listening to music like that," she muttered, "It makes me do stupid things."  
  
She was still leaning against the wall staring at the ceiling when he arrived.  
  
"Mac? Are you there?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm coming," she called shakily.  
  
"Hey," she smiled when he entered the room.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"I bet you're wondering what I called you about right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Stay tonight," she said impulsively as they stood at the door.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need you, I hate being alone when it's dark. Besides, I think we need to talk."  
  
"Ok," he agreed warily, eyeing her apprehensively.  
  
She grinned nervously, "Why do you look like you expect me to attack you or something?"  
  
"You said you wanted to talk. When women say that, it's dangerous," he replied, sitting on the sofa.  
  
She laughed, collapsing beside him.  
  
"This past week has been crazy," she said softly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You're the first person who makes me feel completely understood. I can tell you anything. I can talk to you. I can't do that with anyone else. But with you, it's like it's Ok to feel whatever and whenever I can't say something properly, I just look at you and you understand."  
  
"Hey, what are friends for?"  
  
"But that's the thing. It's not just friendship. I mean, you're my best friend, you're like a twin brother to me, you're like the mirror I look into in the morning. But it's more than that. I love you."  
  
They sat in silence for several minutes.  
  
"Mac, come here."  
  
"What do you mean? I'm right beside you."  
  
"No, come here," he repeated, pulling her into his arms. She pulled away in surprise, then relaxed into his embrace.  
  
"I don't know how to tell you I love you."  
  
"Is that all you were worried about?" she asked incredulously, dislodging herself from his arms to stare at him.  
  
"Don't make fun of me!" he protested.  
  
She smiled, "I'm not."  
  
"So why did you decide to tell me?"  
  
"Would you believe the truth?"  
  
"I suppose so," he answered, kissing her softly.  
  
"A 16 year old who killed himself and a punk rock band," she murmured, returning the kiss.  
  
* * * * * * 


	15. Brand New Day

Life is so crazy sometimes  
  
And you feel like letting go  
  
Everything's so wrong right now  
  
But baby don't you know?  
  
If you'd just hold on  
  
For a little bit longer  
  
If you could just be  
  
A little bit stronger  
  
I could reach you  
  
We'll make it through  
  
There can be no happiness without sorrow  
  
There can be no today if there's no tomorrow  
  
And when it's cold and lonely like today  
  
Tomorrow's always a brand new day  
  
The world is so cold sometimes  
  
It's laughter so cruel  
  
Fate makes fun of you sometimes  
  
And you feel like a fool  
  
If you'd just keep trying  
  
Don't give up  
  
The glass is full  
  
And there's another cup  
  
You're not left behind  
  
It's in your mind  
  
There can be no laughter without tears  
  
There can be no victories if there's no frontiers  
  
And when the stars look so far away  
  
Tomorrow's always a brand new day  
  
You feel so hopeless sometimes  
  
You don't know why  
  
Life is so pointless sometimes  
  
And you want to die  
  
If you'd just keep looking  
  
You're almost there  
  
Don't stop searching  
  
I still care  
  
If you feel jaded  
  
You're not isolated  
  
There can be no love without pain  
  
There can be no sunshine without rain  
  
And when you just can't find your way  
  
Tomorrow's always a brand new day  
  
If you're feeling tired right now  
  
And it's too much to take  
  
Don't be afraid to rest  
  
Before you break  
  
It's not cowardly  
  
It's all right  
  
You can make it  
  
Through the night  
  
Now it's not worth a dime  
  
But give it some time  
  
The sounds always seem louder in the silence  
  
And the light is always brighter in the dark  
  
There can be no race if we're all afraid to run  
  
There can be no loser if you're the only one  
  
And when the shades all seem grey  
  
Tomorrow's always a brand new day  
  
~~ For Jason ~~  
  
* * * * * *  
  
End Part One  
  
A/N: A little sappy mush to finish off there. tell me, is it worth posting the sequel? 


End file.
